The Last Photo
by DarkGarnetRose
Summary: "Don't cry Dennis! Be brave, we're Gryffindors remember?" Dennis takes the last photos of the Battle of Hogwarts. One-Shot.


Disclaimer: All characters belong to J. K. Rowling. I did not create them, and I do not own them.

**The Last Photo**

Your camera is filthy, Colin. Blood drips steadily down the cold metal like drops of rain. It makes the button slippery; the camera hard to hold. Doesn't matter, it still works.

A _click_, a _flash_. Captured ruin.

The first is a long shot, showing the death soaked Great Hall in full. Broken furniture, bricks and wood litter the splintered floor. Windows are cracked and smashed. Holes in the walls, burn marks on the ceiling. Stretchers line the length, people huddled, shivering around them. Crying, sobbing, and wailing. Healing, staring. Pacing. Praying.

I suppose I should join them in this strange dance of grief. But you said this was more important, didn't you Colin? To capture life?

I move slightly, zoom in the lens.

A _click. _A _flash._ Captured heartbreak.

Andromeda Tonks falls to her knees in front of two bodies, a young baby boy sobbing in her arms. The baby knows – he can feel it.

His parents are gone.

She starts wailing, rocking the baby back and forth, crying, "Merlin, no! Oh Merlin, no!"

The bodies don't move. Their hands are held stiffly together, holding each other one last time.

I haven't told our Dad yet Colin.

The war is over and I should tell him but I can't get home. I don't know how to get home. How can I go home, without you? And you said this was more important, right?

A _click. _A _flash. _Captured sisters.

Parvati Patil with her long plaited hair is hugging her Ravenclaw twin sister like her life depends on it. Her pale bloody fingers grip her sister's black burnt robes, refusing to let go. They hold each other in silence, staring down at the body of Parvati's best friend lying at their feet.

Lavender had long scratches lining her face. Blood covers her clothes, and her skin is a pearly white. She may be dead, may be alive. Either way it is a tragedy. A werewolf bite is not something one can fix with a little make-up.

It's a rather nice picture, with the Patil twins finally brought together again.

But then she began crying loudly.

It hurts to listen. I want to shut my ears and turn off the camera, so I don't have to see and I don't have to hear.

Yet you said the truth was important, didn't you Colin?

The camera shakes as I walk on to find my next photo.

A _click. _A _flash. _Captured loss.

George Weasley stands there, with only one ear. He stands looking at the wall, staring at it intently like it was his life's mission to memorise every brick.

His red hair shimmers with rusty blood. His face is expressionless, but his eyes are brimming with excruciating pain. Sky blue eyes. Identical to the eyes of the body surrounded by crying red-haired family members.

A mirror reflection, apart from one ear.

The reflection is pale, stiff and motionless.

He's dead.

Fred's dead, yet George looks it more.

It's so sad Colin.

I shouldn't cry though, should I?

_They_ are the ones in pain.

You said we had to record the truth, didn't you?

I can't remember Colin.

I'm so tired.

A _click. _A _flash. _Captured history.

Professor McGonagall stares out at the hall from the doorway, her wrinkled face crumpled in horror and despair. You can see a silver tear track on her dirt ridden face.

Her line of vision lies on the dead Professor Babbling and Professor Sinistra.

I liked them.

A _click. _A _flash._

Susan Bones stands in the middle of the hall, looking lost. She glances from one dead body to the next with a look of pure helplessness.

Her friend Hannah Abbot has finally got to see her family again. A pure white sheet was just tucked over her, like she was being put to bed.

She was a good healer, Hannah was.

A _click. _A _flash._

Madame Pomfrey, her tight grey bun come a fly, dances from one patient to the next.

She looks exhausted but she never rests. The healers from St Mungos are yet to turn up. She is here alone, to save the entire hall.

So much blood.

I have taken many pictures for you today, Colin.

So many pictures.

Pictures of the battle, of the giants, of the demise of Voldemort. Of the deaths, of the lives, of the destruction of Hogwarts.

There is now only one picture left that I have to take.

Just one.

Insignificant, really.

So small.

You lie there, blanket tucked up under your arms.

You could be asleep almost.

But your blood-drained face and down-cast expression tells me you're not.

You were always smiling in life.

You're dead now.

And you made me take all those pictures for you because you wanted to fight. I took those pictures but now you can't see them.

So what was the point? Was there a point, Colin? Or were you just trying to keep me out of the way, like always? Protect me for the last time?

I zoom in on your face. Blood specks mixing with your freckles, lightly tussled hair, and your determined frown.

A boy's face.

A _click. _A _flash. _

The ministry made children fight an adult's war.

And now you are dead.

That's not something anyone can ever fix, can ever make any better.

The camera is too slippery now.

I let it slip, and I sink with it to the floor.

Your lasts words float through my mind, "Don't cry Dennis! Be brave, we're Gryffindors remember?"

I remember Colin.

I'll always remember.

I have taken enough photos for now, I think.


End file.
